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  He laughed, “you’ve got spirit, you’re going to need it. I’m not asking you to believe me. You either will or won’t. Only time will prove the truth of things. I have need of an extra set of hands and happened to know you were in the area. There are things happening in the north that I need to see, verify with my own eyes what the future is telling me is on the horizon. Simple protection detail. You help scout ahead and lend your bow to my cause, and I will pay you appropriately for your time.”

  Now he was speaking a language she recognized. “You’d be better off finding a knight for a job like that, I’m not a bodyguard, and I work alone.”

  He shook his head, “I need another pair of eyes, that’s all. I am more than capable of handling myself.”

  She looked him over, at his soft hands, his smooth and scar-less skin, and doubted that very much. She sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Where is it that you are planning to go?”

  “The Deadlands,” he replied in a low voice.

  The temperature of the room seemed to drop ten degrees and a chill ran down her spine.

  Shit.

  Chapter 1

  Dark Tidings

  I

  A flash of daylight snapped Tristan out of the realm of daydreams and back to reality. He had been lost in thought, feet automatically following the trail before him, not realizing that he had gotten that close to the forest’s edge. He threw up his right hand to block the searing rays, but it only made it worse. The light became focused into daggers and pierced the space between his outstretched fingers; spearing his mind. He closed them quickly, the orange afterglow floating across his vision, as he slowly let his eyes adjust to his surroundings.

  “Son of a—,” he gasped, his foot catching on an extended root—pitching him forward. He struggled to regain his footing, right hand shooting out to brace for impact. Pain flared from his wrist as he struck a nearby tree, saving him from a face full of dirt. Breathing quickly, his heart thundering against his chest, he allowed himself a moment of relaxation; a chance to reorient and regain his senses. After a brief respite, he inhaled slowly, steadied himself, and started forward once more.

  He had traveled the worn path many times over the years while hunting with his brother and his subconscious altered course as needed while he recovered. He ducked as a familiar branch came at his head, grateful that he remembered it was there; there was no need to make things worse than they already were. A blow to the head right now might just knock him out for the count.

  He enjoyed the quiet that accompanied his older brother’s excursions, but that’s was about the extent of it. His father had been taking John hunting since he was a little boy, the father and son excursions bringing the two closer together. He knew that he should’ve been jealous over the bonding time they were having, but the truth of the matter was, he wasn’t; hunting was just not his thing. And the only reason their old man wasn’t out here in his place was that his health had declined to the point where it made it hard to get out of bed, much less go hunting with his oldest son. His father had insisted that John go and as his brother had grown accustomed to having an audience, Tristan had been drafted to accompany him.

  He went through the motions, acted like he was interested for his brother’s sake, but his heart wasn’t in it. Everything that was involved, from quietly stalking through the forest following game trails, to hiding in the brush waiting for a defenseless and innocent animal to cross their path, down to the killing and then cleaning of the animal’s carcass, it just wasn’t who he was. He didn’t get anything out of it but sheer boredom and cramped sore muscles that would take days to work back out. The physicality of it all just didn’t appeal to him. Rarely, if ever, had he used the bow that he had strapped to his back on one of these hunts. And while he would have preferred to be sitting in his chambers with a decent book in his lap, he had to grudgingly admit that as much as he disliked being forced out here, it was still preferable to the chaos that surrounded the palace lately.

  He had needed a break.

  Enjoying the serenity of the world around him, he inhaled deeply and listened to the soft wind flowing through the trees. The sound of water trickling down a nearby stream had a soothing effect on his soul. Given enough time, he might have gotten his headache to abate, but unfortunately his relief was short-lived as John’s impatient voice thundered from a short distance ahead, shattering the inner calm he had been trying to reach. Birds stopped their song at the intrusion and he was ripped from his drifting thoughts like a babe from a womb. His older brother wanted to get home and he was holding him up.

  He chanced a glance in his brother’s direction and found that his eyes had already begun adjusting to the lighter surroundings. As he emerged from the trees and stepped into the warm dying light of dusk he began to wonder just how long he’d been spacing out? Where had the day gone?

  The setting sun tinted the surrounding countryside in dark orange, warning that its presence was at an end. The encroaching shadows fought the weakening light for ground, spreading its dark tendrils greedily upon the Earth’s surface. Yet, there was still enough light to see the glower on his brother’s face, making him wince. John waited on the incline ahead, his imposing figure towering over the younger sibling; impatience self-evident in the older boy’s stance.

  In contrast, the two couldn’t be more different.

  They had some facial features that marked them as brothers, but that was where the similarities ended. John had taken after their father. His hardened face had been stripped of its youth by the duties and responsibilities of a first-born Prince of Lancaster. Shoulder-length brown hair flowed freely in the soft afternoon breeze. His brow was prominent, lips stern, and he bore a square chin. The cheekbones were pronounced before the piercing coffee-colored eyes. He wore a black vest, brown jerkin, and dark green shorts that barely hid his soiled knees. He was over six-feet tall, broad shouldered, and the well-toned muscular arms glistened in the fading light. It was a ragged appearance, but the elder’s stance exuded pride and confidence.

  A deer was draped over one shoulder, having already been cleaned before their journey home. The dead creature’s glassy eyes stared at him in silent accusation; forcing the youth to lower his gaze in remorse.

  He felt tiny in his older brother’s presence, his average height and scrawniness handed down from his mother’s side rather than his father’s. His brown hair was cut short on top with a long ponytail hanging down his back. His own brown eyes were a window into his soul; another of the many things he had inherited from his mother. He had her slender face and jawline as well as her quiet disposition. He wore similar attire as his brother; but it was filled with a withdrawn intellect and not carried off as efficiently; the innocence within withering under his brother’s glare.

  They both wore quivers with sheaved bows, and John fingered the shaft of an arrow absent-mindedly as they faced off in silence. After a slight pause his brother growled, then turned to the path they’d been following. “I thought you’d be in a hurry to get back to your books, five steps ahead rather than a mile behind.”

  “Hey, you’re the one that asked me to come along,” he threw back with a grin.

  “Well, had I known you wanted to stay out here, I would have brought along the tent,” his brother teased, knowing full well the truth was the opposite.

  He shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “If I had known you were going to make me walk this much, I would’ve come down with an unknown plague and locked my door!”

  “Walking builds character,” John returned with a laugh. “And you can use the exercise.”

  “I got your exercise right here,” he snarked, flashing a middle finger at his brother’s back with a smile.

  John turned just as Tristan’s hand was lowering. “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” he chuckled, daring his brother to suggest otherwise.

  “That’s what I thought,” John tossed back. Then he shook his head and began his steady m
arch down the path once more; not looking to see if Tristan was following after. The path snaked around the occasional boulder but would soon straighten as it joined the eastern road leading to the fortress of Lancaster; their home.

  There was no point in arguing; his brother would not be slowed. He was determined to keep a brisk pace, as if this were a forced infantry march rather than a pleasurable hunting trip. He could try and explain that he wasn’t ready to reenter the chaos that was the palace, but to what end? John would readily drag him back into the turmoil, even if it meant throwing him over the other shoulder and carrying him next to the bloodied deer carcass.

  He shuddered at the thought.

  Movement caught his eye and he brought himself to a halt. He turned his head and tried to spy the source of the distraction, eyes searching their barely lit surroundings with concern. He looked along the path to the adjacent boulders on both sides, but he couldn’t pinpoint anything out of the ordinary. The only sound he could distinguish over the receding footfalls of his brother was the rustling of tall grass in the wind. Yet, he felt eyes on him, watching from the encroaching darkness; a shiver ran up his spine.

  “Let’s go! I’m hungry and dinner will be cold by the time we get there!” John’s voice floated back, snapping him out of it.

  He looked for a second more, then shook his head and continued forward. He still felt like he was being watched, but he tried to shrug it off by forcing a smirk and diverting his thoughts. He trotted until he caught up with his brother. “You know that’s not going to happen. Father always makes the stewards wait to prepare dinner until you get back, even if it takes all night. Now if it were me—,” he began.

  “Oh, spare me the second-born tripe,” John laughed. “I’ve heard it all before. Besides, it’s not like you’re going to have to worry about it much longer anyways, right? Soon, you’ll be the one everyone is waiting to come down from the library for dinner and grace them with your presence. They don’t know how hard it is to pull you from the dusty parchments and back into the real world.”

  The kingdom had experienced a civil war during his father’s early reign and when his father had borne two sons; there was a collective worry amongst the populace that it would happen again. Two boys had been born to his grandfather William as well. They’d been raised as equals and neither were shown preference as to who would someday rule in their father’s stead. When his grandfather had passed, his father had assumed the throne as the rightful heir while his uncle Richard put forth his own claim, splitting the kingdom in two. Both had their supporters and soon open conflict over the crown ensued.

  After an ugly and devastating war, Richard had been defeated. Even though his advisors told him to execute his brother, his father had chosen exile instead; a mercy that everyone knew wouldn’t have been reciprocated had the roles been reversed. Richard had been escorted by soldiers to the fringes of the kingdom and let go, while the men that had followed him were sent to the gallows in his place.

  The fear of another war lightened a bit with his early betrothal to a princess from the neighboring kingdom of Griedlok; his father soothing the fears of his people by providing the promise of his eventual exile as well. Disappointed with the thought of being ripped from his home, of a ticking clock on his days with his beloved family, he had awaited the first meeting with his betrothed filled with dread, like it was an enforced prison sentence with no chance at parole. He had begged his mother to change his father’s mind, to plead that he would be good, that he would never be a threat to the people under their protection, but she had given him a sad smile full of secret knowledge and held him fast as the moment approached.

  He had not prepared for what happened next.

  When the little elven girl drew back her cowl, he was taken aback by how beautiful and exotic she was, even at a young age. Her soft-spoken demeanor combined with the intelligent wit flaring in her eyes won him over instantly. His father had sighed with relief when it became evident that Tristan had fallen hopelessly in love with her, and the reason for his mother’s secretive smile was revealed; she known what would happen all along.

  “Yeah, I’m getting shipped off to Griedlok and you’ll be free of me forever,” he ribbed his brother, though knowing full-well it wasn’t true. John had married the elder daughter of the Elven King, and the sisters were in constant contact with one another. They would insist on frequent visits and he’d be back home more often than not; family ties binding them despite the distance between. “I just don’t know why you dragged me out here, you know I don’t like to hunt.”

  “Torture wasn’t what I had in mind, no matter what you think. I asked you to come along because it may be the last chance you and I have to spend together before your wedding. I know you don’t like it, but how else are we going to get some alone time? Playing chess, starting a book club? I fear a fell back on something I love instead and hoped the quiet of the forest would be a welcomed vacation for you as well.”

  He fidgeted nervously, uncomfortable with the sudden warmth emanating from his brother. “I appreciate that, I do,” he returned, forcing himself to meet John’s gaze, “I just don’t get the same pleasure out of all of this.” His motioning arms indicated that he was talking about more than just the hunting they’d done that day.

  John smirked, “well, soon you’ll be alone with your elven sweetheart and you’ll have all the time in the world to do more than read a book to get the pleasure you seek. I’m betting you’ll be a father yourself before the years out, and you’ll long for the days of hunting with your brother and the solitude it had provided.”

  His face flushed, as it usually did when someone started talking about sex around him; it was not something he was comfortable discussing with anyone, much less his older brother. He didn’t need to make it clear though, just how anxious the topic made him, so he was preparing to make a retort when a howl erupted in the distance, causing him to come to another stumbling halt. His eyes widened as they searched his shrouded surroundings with refreshed anxiety, a hand reaching for the sheathed bow on his back. Maybe if he’d used it more often it’d already be free of its sheathe, as it was, his fingers fumbled around the end, struggling to release it from its bindings.

  They had transitioned from forest to farmland, the corn flowing slightly on his left, his eyes barely making out the silhouettes of cattle on their right. Wooden fences lined both sides of the road, but that was more for the sake of keeping the cattle in, it would not bar a determined predator from getting through. He could see a couple of raised heads amongst the cattle, their stance clearly agitated, alerted to some sense of danger nearby.

  He glanced at his older brother but saw that John hadn’t missed a step nor slowed his pace. Had he even heard it? He glanced at the deer and was suddenly wary of having such an enticing snack in his presence, why go for cattle when they had a meal cleaned and ready to be eaten already? “Uh, wolf?” he offered, incredulous.

  John came to a stop and turned, an apparent lack of concern upon his face. “It’s still a ways off, otherwise those cattle would be doing more than just standing there with their ears perked, trust me. We will alert one of the patrols and let them handle it.”

  “I thought you were the Mighty Hunter, Slayer of Rabbits and Deer, do you now run from the cry of a wolf?” he mocked, smiling widely.

  His brother chuckled, shaking his head, “we’d be out there all-night stumbling around in the dark, not something I’m really up for at the moment. Not to mention having to leave the deer behind. I didn’t spend all day hunting this bastard just to hand him over to a mangy mutt poking around the cattle.”

  “If we had horses—,” he began.

  “I like to walk, helps clear the head. It’s not like we have many chances to get out of the palace these days and I needed some time to think some things through,” John returned, his face looking worried for a brief second. Then it cleared, and his brother patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get back, this deer is get
ting heavy.” He then turned and continued towards the looming castle walls in the distance.

  The nearness of his home made his insides groan; the thought of the madness that awaited them erased all else from his mind. The wolf temporarily forgotten, he forced his feet into a trudging advance, reluctant to reenter the world and his place in it.

  For months now, traveling merchants had been spreading rumors of conflict from the northern borders. When pushed, they were never able to provide specifics, nor evidence to support their stories, the fearmongers seeming to delight in stirring up panic amongst the common folk with their tales of woe; most of which had been handed over by others they’d come across, not experienced themselves. One phrase that was commonly uttered by these overly excited men was that no one survived. If so, who began these tales of destruction?

  Despite their efforts to contain the rumors, to shut down the wild stories frightening the populace, it spread even faster and farther, like that of water being used on Greek Fire. Whispers of war echoed through every tavern and inn, through every hovel and market place, not one citizen free to move about without hearing snippets of the doom looming over them. Civil unrest had grown substantially as a result and nothing they did was helping to quiet them down. It was unnerving, the fear he saw in the darting eyes of the people around him, but he felt helpless to do anything about it.

  Matters had been inflamed further by the sudden appearance of a raving dwarf on their front doorstep. Even though few had seen his arrival; the whole castle seemed to know every word spoken with an uncanny precision within hours of his incarceration. From what the guards had told him, the creature had been a horror to behold from the instant he had come stumbling out of the shadows; they’d nearly shot him out of pure terror. The usual stoutness of the race had been stripped away, nothing left to indicate that he was a dwarf and not a fiend from hell. The tortured and starved creature screamed absurdities from a rank collection of soiled clothing; his mind torn away by the abuse inflicted upon him. Falling to his knees on the castle drawbridge, he had pleaded with the guards to give him sanctuary, claiming demons were close behind. Reacting instantly, the dwarf had been ushered in, the drawbridge raised, and the guard increased in expectation of an imminent assault—that never came.